Today, Tomorrow and Every Day After
by DrawnToDarkness
Summary: Skye makes a move. Ward is okay with that.


_I feel I should add a disclaimer to this so here goes: I am currently out of it on a combination of painkillers & antibiotics. And I had a sneaky glass of wine because I felt the need. So if this doesn't make sense... I'm sorry._

* * *

There's a rational part of his mind that knows he should turn her away. It's a part of his mind he ignores quite happily when her lips cover his, one of her hands in his hair as the other curls around his shoulder and pulls him closer as she straddles his lap.

It's not like either of them are seeing other people, he reasons. She's no longer with Miles – their last encounter proved that – and he's been alone since May unceremoniously brought their arrangement to an end after Lorelei revealed the truth about where his affections lay.

Affections he'd swore he'd keep to himself, wouldn't act on, wouldn't let show.

Until now.

Until the night Skye comes to him, slipping into his room and closing the door behind him without a word. Until she crosses the tiny space between them and climbs up on the bed, legs falling either side of his hips as she seals his mouth to his, causing him to swallow the question he hadn't managed to ask.

_'What are you doing here?'_

He doesn't need to ask it anymore; it's blatantly obvious that the reason she's there is to drive him out of his mind.

She presses down against the growing hardness in his lap, grinding against him as she gasps against his mouth and his arms clench around her, keeping her in place as his hips press up, seeking her heat.

They shouldn't be doing this. They should stop.

The thoughts run through his mind but for the life of him, Ward can't remember why.

Her taste is intoxicating, the scent of the coconut shampoo she uses teases his senses. She's everything he'd imagined she would be but far, far more.

Too much.

Not enough.

It's a pretty thin line.

He's wanted her almost from the moment he saw her – from the moment he took the bag off her head in the interrogation room, at least. He admitted then, while under the influence of the truth serum he swears doesn't exist, that she was a beautiful woman. That thought hasn't changed, but the more he's got to know her, the more flawed he knows her to be, somehow the more beautiful she is to him, too.

It's sappy and it's sentimental but, god help him, it's true.

She tightens her legs around him and he groans into her mouth.

The thin layer of clothes between them – the shorts of her PJ's and his boxers – is far too much for his liking and the only way he can think of to get rid of them is to alter their position.

So he does.

Skye makes a muffed sound into his mouth as he twists so she's on her back, pinned beneath his body and the mattress of his bed. She doesn't protest, though, not when his hands slide to her hips and push down one layer of cotton between them.

Her own hands aren't idle for long and break away from his hair to skim along the muscles of his bare back before pushing at the waist band of his boxers, her legs wrapping around his waist once they're free and the only thing between them is the oversized t-shirt – his, he realises in the morning – that she wears.

That, too, is soon cast aside and then it's nothing but skin on skin and natural body heat between them.

She's perfect.

Oh, she has scars now; the blemish left in the wake of her bullet wound was just the first, but her imperfections make her all the more perfect in his eyes.

Neither of them are without baggage and he sees that now. For a long time, he didn't. For a long time, he'd put Skye up on a pedestal, told himself she was unobtainable because she was everything he wasn't.

The more he's got to know her, the more he's realised that's not true. They're more alike than he thought they were, both of them broken in their own ways, but instead of being put off by the idea, he kind of likes it.

He likes how they fit together, not just physically but in every other way. Pieces solving a puzzle, that's what she'd told him once, and he can't help but feel like she's his missing piece, especially when her fingers trail down his spine and she pulls her mouth away from his to gasp his name in a way he's never heard before and doesn't think he can go without hearing again.

Pulling his mouth away from hers, he blazes a trail of biting kisses along her jaw, down the slender line of her throat and to her chest. Her hand moves, clenches in his hair and she gasps his name and arches her back, urging him to continue.

He does, without hesitation.

Her skin is smooth and soft beneath his hands and mouth, the scent of her making his head spin or that could be the breathy sounds she makes as his ministrations make her writhe beneath him. She could be addictive, he thinks, and wonders briefly if _that's _what makes her a 084 but pushes the thought from his mind both because of who else it makes him think of and because of what he suspects is the truth.

Because he suspects the power she has over him comes from inside him and not her at all but he's not ready to face that truth yet. Well, he might be ready but he's not sure she is, no matter what her reasons for coming to his room.

As she lies quivering beneath him, he kisses his way back up to her face, nuzzling his face against the crook of her neck as she pants his name and clutches at his shoulders with fingers that tremble.

"Grant... Please... Now."

He can't deny her, not when it's what he wants, too. He moves to kneel between her thighs, taking a moment to memorise the sight of her in his bed, hair spilling across his pillows as she gazes up at him with lidded eyes and swollen lips curled up in a sweet smile.

Ward positions himself, then pushes into her, leaning down and pressing her against the mattress to swallow the cry that escapes her and muffle the groan that falls from his own lips. The walls are thin, he remembers, though he's surprised he can even remember that much when he's confronted with the sensation of being so intimately joined with the woman he thinks he might be in love with.

The woman he knows he's probably in love with.

Her legs wrap around him, pushing him deeper. Her heels dig into his ass as her hips cant upwards from the bed, meeting his in time with the rhythm he sets. He kisses her deeply, tongue tangling with hers, trying to convey without words how much it – she – means to him but before long, their kisses become nothing more than the press of his lips against hers as they try to catch their breath between pants.

He slips a hand between their joined bodies when he knows he's close, wanting – no, needing – to see her fall over the edge before him. She starts at the first touch of his hand against her but the low, gravelly moan that escapes her and the way her head falls back against the pillows tells him she's close, too. He can feel her body tremble, her thighs tightening then relaxing around him, and then she cries out, back arching in a perfect bow and he feels her inner muscles tighten around him.

He follows her quickly, dropping his head to muffle her name against her shoulder as his hips surge against hers and his climax hits.

It's intense. Breathtaking. His heart is pounding like he's ran a marathon or gone head to head with half a dozen super soldiers and he feels as weak as a newborn kitten but can't bring himself to care.

It takes him a while to gather his strength enough to pull out of her and roll to the side, certain he's crushing her with his weight but Skye bemoans the loss of him and immediately turns, too, seeking his warmth and the feel of his skin against hers.

Ward wraps his arms around her, cradles her close. He imagines he can feel her heart beating in her chest, in perfect unison with his, and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

This is where things could get messy – well, messier than they already are but then there's always an element of _messiness _ where sex is involved, and good sex in particular.

And this... what they shared... that was more than _good_.

She curls up against him instead of reaching for her clothes, which Ward takes to be a sign they're on the same page. Her head rests against his shoulder, her hand lifts to settle against his chest above a scar and for a long time, neither of them breathes a word.

Until she asks, in an almost too quiet voice, "do you want me to go?"

He tightens his arm around her instead and shifts so he can trap one of her legs with his own. "No."

_'Never,'_ is added silently but he thinks she might hear it anyway if the smile he feels against his chest before she kisses the skin above his heart is any indication.

"Can I ask what brought this on?" If she doesn't want to answer, he won't press her. But he would like to know what happened to bring her to his bed, again just to check that yeah, they're on the same page. "Not that I'm complaining."

Skye's quiet for a while, for long enough that he starts to think she's maybe fallen asleep, but then she starts to speak, her voice barely a whisper in a room that's otherwise silent apart from the sound of their breathing and the distant hum of the plane's engines.

"I dreamt they came for me. The people who killed Agent Avery, the ones who slaughtered the people in my village." She shivers, presses against him as he tenses.

Skye told him everything not more than four days ago, against Coulson's wishes he knows but that's a bridge they'll cross whenever Coulson realises what she's done. They'd been training, she'd been pushing herself too hard, to the point of exhaustion, and he'd demanded to know what was so important to her that her training was suddenly paramount, her health taking second place. She'd told him everything, blurting out the truth in one long monologue he hadn't interrupted before looking up at him so fearfully, obviously afraid he'd turn his back or, worse, report her to HQ.

"They're not going to hurt you," he told her, echoing the vow he'd made a few days before. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Skye."

"That's what you said in my dream," she murmured, lips moving against his skin and sending sparks through his system. He waits, fearing the worst, and is surprised by what comes next. "You fought them for me. With me. And then May turned up, and AC and FitzSimmons and together, we fought them off. We won." She lifted her head, the look in her eyes confused and awed in equal measures. "It's the first time that's happened. Usually you all die in front of me and they kill me anyways but this time... This time we all lived and it made me want, well, _you_. Us. I don't know if I'm going to die or live to see tomorrow end but however long I've got, I don't want to hide anymore. I don't want regrets. I want –"

He cuts her off with a kiss that's both sweet and searing, one that leaves them breathless. He understands perfectly; in their line of work, they're not guaranteed tomorrows and although that's never bothered him in the past, it kind of does now he has Skye in his life.

Now he has someone he wants to share tomorrow with.

"You'll be okay," he promises her, knowing he'll do whatever he has to to make sure it's true.

"We both will," Skye retorts, and he can see she means it from the steely glint in her eyes.

He kisses her again, because he can and because if he doesn't the words that are bubbling up inside him will demand to be spoken and he's not sure they're quite ready for that. "Sleep," he tells her instead. "We'll talk more in the morning."

Skye smirks and settles her head against his shoulder again, fingers tracing nonsensical patterns against his skin. "Talking might not be my priority in the morning. Just FYI."

Ward grins and closes his eyes, the feel of her against him sending waves of contentment through him. "I think I'd be okay with that."

And he would be.

Today, tomorrow and every day after.

* * *

End.


End file.
